


A Winter Night

by justinlovesart



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-29
Updated: 2010-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justinlovesart/pseuds/justinlovesart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ordinary winter evening in New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winter Night

_A few more blocks_ , Justin told himself, as flakes as big as butterflies kept falling on his eyelashes.

He moved slowly and carefully through the slosh, hoping that his soaked-through shoes wouldn’t give in, that he wouldn’t drop the giant art folder he’d slung over his shoulder, and that his frozen fingers would not fall off just yet.

 _Fucking useless gloves_ , he cursed, and wondered for the upteenth time that night since he’d started his long trudge home, why he hadn’t worn the fur-lined leather pair Brian had casually left lying around on his last visit.

Justin loved the snow. And he loved this city. But he’d learned soon enough that unless you woke up to a view of a white-covered Central Park, they made for the most unromantic combination.

He pushed his scarf up to his nose and took a few shallow breaths, still cold enough to make him stop mid step. He batted his eyelashes fast to get rid of the snowflakes, but the wind was blowing in his face, making his eyes sting.

 _Brings back memories_ , he thought, remembering Pittsburgh nights spent sticking posters in unlit streets. Perhaps, he told himself, he could pay a visit the weekend after the next: the show would have opened by then and he would have liked to see the snow fall from inside Brian’s over-heated loft.

He wondered if it was snowing in Pittsburgh, right now.

On that thought, he propelled himself through the over-lit night and the last few steps that divided him from a hot chocolate and his tiny electric heater. He smiled at that, and at the many times Brian had made fun of his ‘apartment’ (he would have a field day with quotation marks today).

Somehow he managed to hold on to the keys to the entrance door, then he pushed the cold and the wind behind him with such relish that he had to lean against it to catch his breath before starting his climb. _Drama princess_ , he told himself, with a familiar accent, just as Mrs DePietri put her nose outside her ground-floor apartment, as per usual.

“Oh, it’s you Justin,” she smiled, and opened her door a little wider. “You're the only one who hadn’t come home yet. I was worried.”

Others (Brian) might have been annoyed at her self-appointed guardian role of the ins and outs of the brownstone’s residents; but Justin liked her purple hair and the smell of lemon, cinnamon and sugar that came through her door whenever she opened it. Although he was dying to rush upstairs and step out of his wet clothes, he took off his left-hand glove and walked towards her.

“I’m glad to be back, Mrs. D,” he said, and stroked the cat she was holding under her arm. “And how’s Millie tonight?” he asked, getting a long, low purr in reply.

It was enough. “Go and make yourself warm, now” Mrs DePietri ordered, looking at him while he ran up, two steps at a time. “I’ve left you a little something!” she finally shouted, before going back in.

When Justin opened his door at last, he noticed immediately two things: first, the sugary-lemony smell; second, that the place was warm. Hot, even.

The third thing he noticed was Brian eating cake.

Brian lifted his head and smirked, then gestured around the small living area. “One thing to be said for this ‘apartment’ (oh, yes, the quotation marks were here to stay!) is that it heats up fast.”

Justin started to unwrap slowly, feeling the blood coming back to his nose, his pupils and even his teeth. “You were here last weekend,” he said, as a way of question.

“What can I say. I couldn’t resist another helping of Mrs. DePietri’s baking.”

He put his fork down and walked towards Justin who’d finally taken off his scarf, coat and hat. Brian took Justin’s right hand in his and pulled off the wet glove, one finger at a time. “Are you going to wear the ones I gave you, now?” he asked, and Justin nodded. Then, Brian rubbed the hand, as he’d done so many times before.

Justin felt life coming back to his fingertips.

He glanced towards the window and out: the snow was still falling, but the large flakes looked altogether different now, and quite beautiful.

“I’ve never painted snow before,” he considered. “I wonder if I could.”

Brian snorted and pulled him towards the window. “It’s easy.”

They looked out for a while and it reminded Justin of the loft, but not quite the same.

Finally, Brian broke the silence. “You need a hot shower,” he whispered and Justin nodded again, but he kissed Brian first. He tasted of lemon and sugar: _a bit like lemon bars_ , he thought.

Just not the same.


End file.
